


Head Rush

by blainedarling



Series: Seblaine Week 2014 [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Tumblr: seblaineweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1930218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blainedarling/pseuds/blainedarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine should have known better than to knock on the big scary mansion at the end of the street, but he did really need to sell those cookies if the Glee club was going to make it to Nationals {notes} warning for a little bit of blood/gore stuff at the end. (Day Five: Paranormal/Fantasy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head Rush

It was saying something that Blaine had had to sweet talk the leaders of the local Girl Scouts Group to even get to their cookie distributors, and avoid making a loss just in getting the stock. Not to mention that he’d then somehow ended up volunteering himself to lead a singalong the following weekend. 

Blaine would like to see even one other member of the New Directions going to those sort of lengths for the sake of their Glee club. Inevitably, it always seemed to fall to his shoulders. 

It made him pine for the familiarity of Dalton, and the Warblers, the nostalgia overpowering him sometimes with how strongly it could rise from somewhere deep in his chest. The Warblers had been a team, a cohesive unit that worked and moved as one. With the New Directions, it sometimes felt like he was the anchor, needed to even keep everyone in the same room for an hour long rehearsal. 

He sighed under his breath as he carted along the cart of cookies down his street, pushing aside his feelings of resentment, not to mention embarrassment, in favor of tackling the task at hand. There were far more humiliating jobs in the world - in fact, he’d taken to listing them in his head as he trekked from house to house. 

Not to mention Blaine, himself, had done more embarrassing things. The Gap, February 2011 came frequently to mind.

That he lived in an affluent neighborhood was a definite advantage in this case, many of the doors he knocked on buying several boxes at a time. Not because they necessarily wanted them, but because they could afford to. And perhaps because they could see the desperation behind Blaine’s wide smile as he showed them the different boxes with unfaltering charm and grace.

He’d looped his block twice now in the past fortnight, receiving surprisingly few irritated neighbors at the persistent salesman and his rattling cart of cookies. All houses on the block, except for one.

Blaine had heard the stories, all the kids around this area had. About the big old house at the end of the street with the wild, overgrown garden and the rusted gates. It had once been a sanitarium, the name still visible in the arch as one walked in, if one dared to at all, that was. It was said to be haunted - big old house, of course it was said to be haunted. By the spirits of those once locked in there, by some other demons - the stories varied.

Whether anyone actually lived there was a mystery. Some people said they’d seen a man around from time to time, around dusk, typically. A tall man with pale skin and eyes that glowed green, with long elegant fingers to push open the creaking gates to his mansion. 

Blaine wasn’t sure what he believed, in regards to that house. But, for one reason or another, he just hadn’t gone near it in his rounds. But as he glanced down at his cart that day, he noted with some resentment how sales seemed to be dwindling. He couldn’t blame them. Many of them must have had six or seven boxes of cookies piling up in their kitchens, having been far too generous up until this point already. 

He sighed, creaking his cart to a standstill right on the perimeter of the house at the end of the street. It made him feel small, the shadow of the building looming up over him. He half expected a swirl of bats or crows to swoop out from under the awning, just to frighten him away.

“It’s just another house,” Blaine whispered to himself firmly, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the handle on the cart, tugging it up the path towards the front door. The wood was falling to pieces, huge splinters peeling away from the frame, viciously sharp. There was no visible knocker, or a doorbell, but a chain hanging from the door that swung lightly in the breeze.

Taking a breath, Blaine tugged on it sharply, hearing the clanging of a bell from somewhere within the house. He wasn’t even sure he expected the door to open, altogether surprised when it did so only a matter of moments later. It opened just a crack, a single green eye meeting his own through that gap.

“Yes?” the occupant asked, drawing out the word, the final sound resonating almost as a hiss.  
“Uh, hello. Sir.” Was it even a man? Gosh, Blaine hoped so, or he wasn’t going to sell any cookies. “I’m selling cookies to help fund my glee club’s trip to the Nationals competition and I would-”

The man (woman? Person?) groaned, effectively cutting Blaine’s sales pitch short. “Please stop, you’re giving me a headache.”  
Blaine’s cheeks coloured, his only consolation being that he was now confident it was, in fact, a man on the other side of that door. “I’m sorry, I- Would you like me to leave?”

There was a moment of silence, the sound of a ticking clock coming from somewhere within the house.   
“You can come in and I’ll buy as many of these damn cookies as you want. Just as long as you agree not to tell me anymore of your sob story.”

Blaine frowned, biting back a haughty retort about how it was a very serious problem, and did he understand just how much of a crisis the lack of funding for the arts  _really_  was - because this man had just agreed to buy as many of his damn cookie as Blaine wanted. And there was an offer he could not refuse.

“Cross my heart,” Blaine piped back sweetly, beaming as the door widened to allow him entrance. His cart rattled over the door frame as he made his way in, wrinkling up his nose at the layer of dust that seemed to be etched over every available surface of the house. He snuffled a little, before sneezing, hiding it into his wrist.

“Bless you,” the man said, Blaine’s gaze moving over to where he was leaning against another doorframe, one which appeared to lead towards a kind of drawing room.   
Blaine allowed himself a moment to really take a look at the man whose house he’d found himself in.

He was tall and slender as some of the gossip’s tales had said, so Blaine assumed this to be the man occasionally spotted at dusk around the area. His eyes were an extraordinary shade of green, so vibrant that they seemed almost unreal. He was dressed all in black, an expensive looking silk shirt loose at the collar, and black pants that hugged the curves of his long legs. 

“Sebastian,” the man offered, tapping the nails of one hand on the opposite side of the doorframe, blocking that route for the time being. “If that was what you were searching for in your full body scan there.” He grinned easily, clearly unperturbed by the intensity of Blaine’s gaze. 

Blaine’s cleared his throat a little, setting the handle down on his cart before folding his arms over his chest self-consciously. “Blaine. Anderson. I live at number forty-two.”  
“Cherry tree,” Sebastian replied softly, his hand slowly moving down to rest at his side.  
“Excuse me?” Blaine quirked an eyebrow in confusion. Something about this man didn’t seem quite..right, to him.

“Every house on this street was once known by the name of a tree, not by numbers. Forty-two, that was the cherry tree. Mine was the grand oak.”  
“Oh.” Blaine was sure he’d heard something to a similar effect once from an older couple who lived a few doors down, but he’d never paid much attention. Sebastian seemed a little young to be so interested in local history, especially such fine details. But then again, if the house was anything to go by, the man was hardly the atypical twenty something American male. An eccentric, perhaps.

“Cherry seems particular appropriate for you,” Sebastian smirked, his long eyelashes fluttering over his eyes as he looked him over once before nodding a little, as if a sign of approval. “Do come in, Blaine.”

Sebastian showed him into the drawing room that he had previously been blocking, gesturing to a rocking chair by the window, although the curtains were drawn tightly shut despite the lovely day right outside. He, himself, continued to stand, unnaturally still as he settled a few feet from Blaine.

The more Blaine looked at Sebastian, the more mesmerized he was - and not least by his skin, so pale it was almost translucent. He couldn’t help but idly wonder how it feel beneath his fingertips, smooth as marble or rough from time and age. 

“So,” Blaine said after a time in which Sebastian said nothing, simply continuing to watch him with obvious interest. “Cookies? You said you’d be interested in buying some.”  
“Cookies,” Sebastian repeated, amusement quirking at the corners of his mouth and crinkling his eyes. “Of course.”

His gaze shifted to Blaine’s cart, eyes ticking over the boxes.  
“Five dollars a box,” Blaine offered helpfully, sparing any other details given Sebastian’s earlier warning regarding sob stories.  
Sebastian shrugged, reaching into his pocket. “I’ll take the lot.”

Blaine gaped at him in surprise. Sebastian didn’t even look like he  _ate_  cookies, let alone why one man would need thirty seven boxes of them. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly, eyeing him with some degree of suspicion.   
“Are you getting sentimental about letting them go, now?” Sebastian retorted, gliding over the room to press the notes into his hand, before looking down at the boxes. “You can keep the cart. I’ve greatly enjoyed watching you trundle it around the block these past few weeks.”

The younger boy shifted on his seat, the wood creaking beneath the movement, a flush creeping up the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or in some way concerned, that this man had not only been watching him but was now willing to buy every last cookie. To help him with a cause he had no interest in even hearing about. 

“Thank you,” Blaine said finally, remembering his manners. “That’s very generous of you.” He thumbed over the notes, letting out a soft whistle under his breath. It seemed like more than enough, but at this point he didn’t dare question Sebastian’s actions. 

Blaine started as Sebastian’s hands moved to the arms of the chair, his face dizzyingly close as he stooped down.   
“It is, isn’t it?” he breathed, the bright glare of his eyes making Blaine feel light headed. “So generous that I think you should return tomorrow. No need for the cookies, just a social call.” He smiled a little crookedly. “What do you think, Blaine?”

Blaine felt as though his head had been stuffed up with cotton candy, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He nodded dumbly, unsure what was happening to him, sure of only one thing, indeed. That he would most certainly return tomorrow, to visit his new friend, Sebastian.

“I think I look forward to seeing you then,” Blaine replied, a feeling akin to head rush hitting him as Sebastian pulled away.  
“Wonderful,” Sebastian purred. “I look forward to it.”

*

Blaine’s visits became a daily occurrence, each time carrying less apprehension as he approached the door to Sebastian’s home. He rarely had to ring the bell anymore, either, for Sebastian would leave the door ajar for him, often waiting within the very depths of the house with a smile that read:  _I’ve been expecting you._

They talked, mostly. Sebastian took him through the many rooms of the house, pointing out details here and there. The extensive library that he said his family had been collecting for centuries, row upon row of books which did not carry that same level of dust as the rest of the house. He showed Blaine photographs, too, and paintings, telling grandiose stories of his great-great-grandfathers and their exploits. 

Gradually, Blaine even managed to open Sebastian up to the idea of a little housekeeping. It was a slow process, a room-to-a-day sort of job, but Sebastian seemed to warm to the idea once he discovered how many old possessions could be rediscovered under the general filth. 

Sebastian asked things of Blaine, too. Of his life, of his aspirations, of his family. The way he talked was as if he knew little of the outside world, as if his entire life were confined to this house. Blaine humored him, with pleasure, asking no untoward questions as to where Sebastian’s days were spent, when he was not there. 

Each visit would end the same. Blaine would be hit with that feeling of head rush, a light pounding in his ears that dissipated a moment later, filled with sense of obligation to return once again the following day. He became more and more conscious of it as the days passed by, his feet carrying him through no mind of his own.

Blaine had some ideas circling regarding Sebastian’s odd behavioral patterns. The deep vested knowledge in past history, the way he moved, talked, his  _eyes._  He had ideas, but he disliked making assumptions. 

*

That day had left him with streaming eyes and sneezes erupting from him every other second or so. It was his own fault - he’d forgotten his allergy tablet that day even though he’d known that Sebastian and he were to tackle the ballroom. The cobwebs hanging from the chandeliers, the dust coated over the marble floor. 

Sebastian had been apologizing profusely all afternoon, offering up lace trimmed handkerchiefs and endless glasses of cool water. He’d half-heartedly suggested perhaps Blaine should go home, but the downturn of his lips had been so forlorn that Blaine couldn’t find it in himself to leave.

The room was not quite to its normal state yet - Sebastian had shown Blaine many pictures of what it had looked like in use, filled to the brim with young debutantes and dashing suitors - but it was an improvement. And Blaine did have a history paper, ironically enough, to be working on.

Sebastian’s hand brush his forearm, a shiver running down Blaine’s spine. He knew what was coming. Blaine laid his own hand against Sebastian’s chest, looking up at him firmly.   
“Don’t,” he murmured, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the silk of his shirt. “You don’t need to do that, Sebastian. I’ll come back. You don’t need to make me.”

The taller man looked down at him in shock, at a loss for words in a way that Blaine had never seen from him before. Very slowly, he nodded in consent, but his hand made no move to drop his touch from Blaine’s arms. Blaine’s thumb was still caressing Sebastian’s chest, dipping under the material by accident, brushing over smooth skin.

“Oh,” Blaine gasped, drawing his hand back quickly, red spots appearing on his cheeks. “I’m sorry, that was-”  
Sebastian cut him off with a soft whine, reaching for Blaine’s hand to place it back against his chest. “Don’t you feel it, Blaine?” he whispered, his eyes boring down into Blaine’s. 

Blaine frowned. “Feel what?” There was nothing to feel beneath his palm, no flicker, no flutter, no- No heart beat.  
“Exactly,” Sebastian replied, before letting out a sigh. He dropped Blaine’s hand, moving away from him. “You should go now.”

Blaine nodded, starting towards the door, his own heart rate picking up a little bit. He paused in the doorway, turning back towards Sebastian. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sebastian,” he called out, and he thought he saw a flicker of a smile on the other man’s face as he left.

*

Blaine wasn’t sure whether to be nervous the next day. His assumption appeared to be true, however reluctant his brain was still to voice the word out loud. 

_Vampire._  

The horror movies Cooper used to make him watch sprung up images of men in cloaks with blood on their fangs, hissing and swooping through the night. Sebastian was none of those things. Except for maybe the occasional hissing. 

Sebastian was charming and smart, well-versed in literature and art, a wonderful conversation partner. Blaine supposed he’d had a good many years to become so. But more than that, Sebastian may not have been a man, like him, but he felt as human to Blaine as any other. Maybe even more so, just from the raw quality of his soul.

The door was open that day, and he found Sebastian in the kitchen, toying idly with a glass of scotch.   
“Little early in the day, isn’t it?” Blaine teased. It was a Saturday, just past midday. 

Sebastian looked up with a wry smile. “I was preparing myself for the inevitability of you not coming. It would seem it is a wasted glass, after all,” he mused, leaning over to tip the liquid into the sink.   
“I told you I would,” Blaine replied, stepping around the kitchen island to stand next to him, his eyes ticking over the curve of Sebastian’s neck.

Now that he knew - or, at least, was almost definite that he knew - all his doubts and fears had gone. It seemed twisted: perhaps he should be more afraid, hiding in his house and begging his parents to move to another neighborhood. But he wasn’t. All he felt was more of a draw to Sebastian now that he’d stopped compelling him to feel that way.

“Forgive me for being skeptical,” Sebastian responded, his tone soft, a hand coming up to brush over Blaine’s arm. “It’s been a long many years since I’ve had someone I could put any faith in.”

When Blaine didn’t reply, merely smiling up at him, Sebastian’s hand tightened on his arm, spinning him around until he was pressed up against the taller man’s chest. Blaine felt his breath hitch, his eyes falling shut as Sebastian’s lips ghosted over the shell of his ear. Sebastian placed a row of gentle kisses down Blaine’s neck, each one making him a little weaker at the knees, grateful for the strong arm wrapped around his waist. 

Sebastian hesitated at the juncture between Blaine’s neck and shoulder, resting his mouth there as the seconds ticked by.  
“It’s okay,” Blaine whispered, reaching a hand back to card through Sebastian’s hair gently. “I trust you.”

That seemed all the encouragement he needed, for Sebastian’s teeth sunk deep into his flesh, drawing a strangled cry from Blaine’s throat. The initial puncture had hurt, but from there it was more pleasurable, pulsated waves flooding through Blaine’s body. He gasped for air as Sebastian’s hand pressed flat along his hipbone, the touch coupled with the bite putting him into sensory overload, the world going black around him.

*

When Blaine awoke, it was to find he was laying on the couch of the living room, his head in Sebastian’s lap as the other man tugged his fingers lightly through his curls. Blaine gingerly lifted a hand to his neck, but he could feel no mark left behind, no cuts or scars. 

“You’re okay, I promise,” Sebastian murmured. “Your body has to adapt to it.”  
Blaine nodded, slowly pressing himself up so he could be face to face with Sebastian. “I trust you,” he repeated softly, before kissing his cool lips.  
Sebastian smiled against them, his green eyes flickering when they pulled apart. “In the meantime, I would be rather interested in seeing in what others ways I can get you to make those  _beautiful_  noises that were coming out of your mouth.”

Blaine’s hazy memory of the preceding moments pinpointed his back arching, head tipping back against Sebastian’s shoulder, as shameless whines and groans fell from his lips. His cheeks flared hot with embarrassment, but Sebastian simply kissed the coloured spots, a smirk playing on his lips. Blaine laughed softly, searching out Sebastian’s lips again. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”


End file.
